


A Study in Silver

by tysunkete (aozu)



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sherlock (TV) Fusion, Gen, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 01:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13155921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aozu/pseuds/tysunkete
Summary: Modern London AU.Based off Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes and BBC’s Sherlock. “Who’d want me for a flat mate?”





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written: 06/03/2012.

If anyone was to consider a first impression of Kanda Yuu, no one would’ve guessed that he was a doctor. Or surgeon, to be precise. The twenty eight year old Japanese looked more youthful than his actual age suggested. It could have been due to the unnaturally flawless skin and exotic beauty that stained his sharp delicate but masculine features. However his appearance wasn’t the main cause of this misconception—it was his infamous foul attitude. Cold, ruthless and cutting were not qualities often found in a profession where patient contact was of upmost importance, especially in an age where medical expertise was becoming customer service.

Despite his lack in warm heart, no one could deny that the then promising student from Barts’ had a great deal of skill with the blade, surpassing his seniors. His surgeries were always quick and clean, decisions made with absolute zero hesitation and maximum confidence. However, in the midst into his residency at the University College London Hospital, he transferred to a course prescribed for surgeons in the British army. He had no complaints about his assignments until his regiment was sent to America to be stationed, and several weeks later the invasion of Iraq had been ordered. At once, he was sent to the enemy lines and entered upon his new duties.

It was a short but life impacting war. In the Battle of Nasiriyah he and six soldiers were captured in an ambush. During an attempt to escape he was struck on the shoulder by a bullet which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery—fortunately, the rescue efforts had seized the two bridges of Ambush Alley under control by then. Despite his initial quick signs of stubborn recovery, infection caused several weeks of complications and by the end of it all he was declared to be dispatched back to England for recovery.

He only had an ex-foster father General Froi Tiedoll in England, who was secretly the main reason why he had attached himself to the army, but the day be dammed when he would ask the old man for help. He was given compensation for his time off, and eventually he found himself back in London, roaming the nostalgic streets idly. A month later of meaningless drifting, the constant twitch in his right hand reminded him of his frustrated dull existence. The tremor was also the main reason why he refused to find a job—knowing that he was _incompetent_ was pure aggravation. Funds were starting to run low—inflation had never before been as high—and soon he realized that lounging around in a hotel in Holborn was not the smartest thing to do.

Two days after he had decided upon this, he was passing by Regent’s Park when someone called his name. Upon turning around he recognized the younger girl who beamed back with surprise and delight.

“Kanda! Since when were you back in London? Why didn’t you tell me? Or my brother? Are you attached to a hospital here now? Where are you staying? Are you—“

“Lenalee,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He wasn’t the kind of person to _contact_ people, and Lenalee of all people should know that. The Chinese was several years his junior whom was shadowing the mortician during his third year of medical school—her brother was apparently _great_ friends with his ex-foster father (joy)—and she had recognized him just by the fact that he was the only Japanese in his year.

“Sorry, it’s just been a long time,” the girl grinned, eyes twinkling knowingly. “We have got to catch up—in fact, are you free now? Let’s go for some tea.”

Kanda had never learned the art of saying no to Lenalee, and even after his army stint nothing had changed. Then again, it wasn’t like he actually had plans. He found himself dragged to a particularly fancy high tea café in Covent Garden, with a pot of jasmine green tea brewing comfortingly next to him.

“So, what have you been doing nowadays?” Lenalee asked curiously after a long drawn out session of much coaxing for an account of his adventures in which he had no chance to sip his tea.

He shrugged non-committedly. “Looking for a place. Maybe.”

The female nodded understandably. “Property prices are ridiculously high. I know my brother would like to move to somewhere cheaper, but I can’t bear to part with central London,” she sighed, lips ponderingly at the edge of her cup. “Perhaps you could find a flat mate—it’s always cheaper to split the rent.”

“No,” Kanda denied immediately without a second thought. “Too annoying.”

Lenalee giggled. “At least give it some thought,” she chided.

“What’s the point? You know I can’t live with idiots. Besides,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Who’d want _me_ for a flat mate?”

The pause after that was enough for him to glance at the girl, and there was a slow thoughtful smile at tugged at the edge of her lips.

“Curious,” Lenalee remarked. “You are the second person to say that to me today.”

Kanda cocked an eyebrow. “Huh. And who was the first?”

“Someone who is working at the chemical laboratory at the hospital,” she replied after some thought. “Well, actually, he doesn’t really work there, but anyway, he told me his landlord wants him to get a flat mate and apparently he’d get booted out if he doesn’t—“ her eyes widened excitedly. “That’s perfect!”

The doctor was never really fond of girlish excitement. “What’s perfect?” he asked blandly.

“You!” she nearly shrieked, clapping her hands together. “Him! This! Oh my god why didn’t I think of this sooner?” she muttered under her breath, and turned to him with a big grin. “If you’d room with him, it’d be absolutely perfect!”

Kanda merely rolled his eyes. “I’ve already told you I don’t want to live with anyone—“

“Come on, Kanda,” Lenalee huffed. “He’s a nice guy. He’s pretty knowledgeable about a lot of things, like anatomy and chemistry and he told me he’s never taken any proper medical classes, which is pretty impressive, you’ve got to admit. You like smart people, don’t you? Plus, when he’s absorbed into his experiments he doesn’t talk much, so he shouldn’t annoy you.”

“I don’t care.”

Of course, it wasn’t like Lenalee ever listened to him. “Just meet him once,” she insisted, and then paused. “Actually, let’s go visit him now! He’s always at the lab for hours at one go. I saw him this morning, so he should still be there!”

She grabbed his arm with great enthusiasm after throwing a few bills on the table and proceeded to drag him off.

“Wait—fuck, Lenalee—“

It was unfortunate that he never did get to drink his tea.

* * *

St. Bartholomew’s Hospital was a place that was not new to Kanda. After all, he particularly hated travelling from Whitechapel to the hospital during his placements. Bus services were ridiculously fond of delays and he didn’t particularly like the route to walk there either. The hospital looked exactly the same whence he last entered—which was a few years ago—and he needed no guidance as they ascended the staircase and made their way down the long corridor. Towards the end was a low arched passage that branched away from the main corridor and led to a dun coloured door.

Lenalee gave two quick knocks and entered as though it was a familiar routine. Kanda followed moodily, not wanting to be there but he was in a situation that did not allow him to say no. The first thing that he noticed was that the chemical laboratory was littered with countless of bottles. Equipment. Test-tubes, Bunsen burners, odd coloured solutions. The large table in the middle was messy, but it was in a sort of organized mess, with certain things lined up in straight rows while a few others were thrown carelessly across the otherwise perfect formation.

The second thing that caught his eye was a man with a crop of red hair—no, calling him a ginger wasn’t the correct term to describe him for it was nearly _flaming_ _red_ —bending over to view something in the microscope. The fellow cocked his head up when they both arrived, but returned to his specimen after a quick glance.

“Lenalee, can I borrow your phone?” the man asked, focused on his experiment. “There’s no signal in mine.”

Lenalee raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you use the landline?”

“I prefer to text,” he replied.

“Kanda, lend him yours.”

“What?” The Japanese snapped, narrowing his eyes.

“Come on. My brother would do unspeakable things to him if he finds out—“

“Then let him—“

“Be nice and help him out—“

“Fuck that—“

Somehow Lenalee managed to steal his phone from his pocket and tossed it to the other man. “By the way,” she smiled, noting that the other was staring curiously at the third occupant with his phone in hand. “This is Kanda Yuu, an old friend of mine.”

“Give that back,” Kanda growled, holding his hand out.

The redhead merely looked at him calmly. Kanda glared back at the unwanted attention because he was starting to feel creeped out at the way the redhead was scrutinizing him. The redhead wore an eyepatch over his right eye, but that did not lessen the intensity of the gaze that he observed him with. Lenalee elbowed him to make him say some stupid pleasantry, but Lavi beat her to it.

“Thanks,” he said, flipping the clampshell shut after a quick succession of button pressing, walking over and holding it out to the Japanese who snatched it rudely back. “Afghanistan or Iraq?

Kanda immediately stiffened, eyes widening in shock before narrowing with suspicion. How the hell did he—wait, what?

“Which is it?” The other repeated curiously, leveling him with a calm gaze. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

Swallowing uncomfortably, Kanda frowned. “…Iraq,” he muttered, though highly apprehensive. “How did you…?” He shot an accusing look towards the female but Lenalee merely shook her head.

The redhead only looked at him for a moment before turning his attention towards the Chinese. “By the way, Lenalee, where did you get that bracelet? You weren’t wearing it this morning.”

“Huh?” The girl looked stunned, and her left hand automatically covered her right wrist. “Oh. Um,” a slight blush arose. “I met someone afterwards…”

“So, how do you feel about the violin?”

It took Kanda a while to register that he was the one being addressed. “What?”

“I play the violin when I’m thinking and have some chemicals around for my experiments—would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other,” the redhead grinned, his one emerald eye glinting.

“Just what did you tell him about me?” Kanda demanded, scowling at Lenalee.

“Nothing,” the girl denied, crossing her arms. “You were with me the whole time, remember? You would’ve known if I called or texted him.”

“Then who said anything about flat mates?”

“I did,” the redhead cut in smoothly. “I told Lenalee I was a looking for a flat mate and now here he is, clearly done with military service in Iraq—not a difficult conclusion.”

“How the hell did you know about that—“

“My flat is a pretty nice place in central London,” the other went on without missing a beat, grabbing his coat off the chair. “With you gramps won’t kick me out—we’ll meet there tomorrow evening at seven o’clock. Sorry, I’ve got to dash to get those fingers out of the toaster before the old man comes back.”

He was nearly out the door when Kanda’s low baritone brimming with irritation sounded behind him.

“Is that it?”

He turned, tilting his head. “Is that what?”

The doctor just could not comprehend the situation. “I just fucking _met_ you—I don’t know who the hell you are—“

The redhead paused. “Problem?”

“I don’t even know your fucking name or where the hell in central London you’re talking about, and you fucking don’t know me—“

Ah. He took a step closer towards the Japanese, firmly meeting those furious eyes. “I know you’re an army doctor and you’ve returned recently from Iraq. You’ve got a father who really cares for you but you don’t go to him for help. Possibly because he’s overbearingly concerned,” he stated, cocking his head. “But more likely because you don’t want to burden him. The doctor who treated you thinks your tremor in the right hand is psychosomatic and wants you to see a therapist, but you don’t because you’re too proud to.”

Silence echoed after the monologue.

“That’s enough to go on with, don’t you think?” he shrugged, swinging the door open again. “The name’s Lavi Bookman, and the address is 221b Baker Street.” he smirked, winking. “Afternoon, Lena-chan!”

With a turn of the heel, he was gone.

Kanda just stared at the door.

“You said he wasn’t annoying,” he said eventually, narrowed eyes at Lenalee.

She shrugged with a smile.

* * *

Messages – Sent

> _It was the doorman._
> 
> _LB_

Kanda quirked a curious eyebrow.

Just who was this Lavi Bookman?

The guy seemed like a downright weirdo to be honest.

But then again, he _did_ need a place to stay.

* * *

For some reason, Kanda found himself standing outside 221b Baker Street at precisely seven. The heavy metal knock resounded precisely three times before it swung open, revealing the face of the man he met yesterday. Still the same outstanding hair colour, though, this time slightly messy, and he was wearing a buttoned up purple shirt with black slacks. The single eye brightened up upon sight, but looked rather expectant, like he _knew_ Kanda would definitely show up.

Lavi swung the door wider. “Hello. Come on in.”

The Japanese did so, eyes immediately sweeping over the general outlook of the place as he was led up the stairs.

“Isn’t this area kind of expensive?” he muttered, noting that it was a pretty cosy place. Well kept.

“The old man—the landlord of this property—will give you a special rate,” the redhead answered as they came up to a single large airy sitting room, furnished with warm wood. “He just wants the second bedroom to be taken.”

“That would be me,” an older, dryer voice sounded from the side and Kanda nearly jolted in surprise. Lavi seemed perfectly unaffected.

“Gramps, this is Dr. Kanda Yuu,” the redhead introduced.

The old man in question looked ancient, to be honest. He was short, and age was certainly a factor to his wrinkled skin. There were two dark circles underneath his eyes and his hair—or lack thereof—was pulled into a tight ponytail at the top. Regardless, Kanda could sense no ill will from the man.

“What do you think, Dr Kanda?” the old man questioned idly. “I told the idiot to find someone to fill the next bedroom but I guess you’ll do as well. The room is still open if you want it.”

Kanda paused, and frowned. “Of course I’ll need it—“

“I’m not one to judge, Doctor. Take as much time as you want to look around,” the other replied, by passing him and descending the stairs.

The Japanese’s gaze lingered at the disappearing back in confusion for a moment before returning it to scrutinize the living room. It was pretty nice, if he wanted to admit it. The couches were comfy, and the lighting was provided for by two broad windows that sat against the patterned wall. Even the kitchen that extended from the area looked well stocked. As far as he could see, everything was in excellent condition.

Except for the dreadful _mess_.

“I think so, my thoughts, precisely.”

Kanda turned to the redhead who was shuffling next to him. “What?”

“You said it was a nice place,” Lavi answered, smiling.

“I didn’t say anything,” the doctor denied, raising an eyebrow.

The redhead didn’t seem to hear him.

“Anyway, you can move in as soon as you want—“

“If you could move all of that shit off the floor—“

Both of them started and stopped at the same time. Lavi stared, noting the look on the other’s face. “Oh. Um. Obviously I can straighten things up—" he made some kind of effort to shove a stack of books off the floor to another side of the floor which didn’t really help anything, but he _tried_ —

“Is that a fucking _skull_?” Kanda abruptly asked, eyeing the object on the mantelpiece.

“Friend of mine,” the other immediately answered, shrugging. “The name’s Hammer.”

The frown on the Japanese’s face was getting deeper by the second, and he would’ve said something more, but someone else was knocking on the door. Muffled words were exchanged and soon footsteps were ascending the steps. A second later, the person burst into the room, breathing with a little exertion.

Lavi looked perfectly unsurprised. “Where and who.”

“Holmewood gardens, Brixton,” the man breathed. “Detective Lee.”

The redhead nodded. “I’ll come, but not in the police car. I’ll be right behind.”

The messenger sighed in what seemed like relief, and quickly scuttled back out of the house. Kanda watched the exchange curiously, noting that the redhead was still standing there impassively even after the man had left.

Then, he got the shock of his life.

“BRILLANT! YES!” Suddenly Lavi had shouted in jubilee and pumped a fist excitedly in the air, moving towards Kanda in what seemed like a joyous moment to glomp the other man. “Finally, an unexplained case!”

The doctor carefully maneuvered out of the way of the excited man who continued to ramble to himself, grabbing a coat off the couch along the way.

“Ah, it’s Christmas! Yuu, get a cup of tea, make yourself at home! Don’t wait up,” he sighed happily, heading out the door. “Gramps! I’ll be late—I might need some food! Something cold will do!”

“Get it yourself, dimwit!”

Kanda was starting to feel that confusion was what he was always going to feel around this peculiar personality. He was too distracted to notice that the other had called him by his given name—even after a minute later when he opted to take a closer look at his surroundings.

“You’re a doctor.”

“What the _f_ —“ God, was everyone in this bloody house used to creeping up on everybody?

Lavi was leaning on the doorframe, hands fiddling with his scarf. “An army doctor.”

Kanda didn’t answer in affirmation, but he could tell the other knew.

“Any good?” the redhead asked.

“What do you think?” the Japanese scoffed, crossing his arms.

“You’ve seen a lot of injuries then,” Lavi continued, stepping closer slowly. “Violent deaths. Bloody. Gruesome.”

Kanda shrugged.

The redhead was now eye to eye with him, and a small smirk played on the edge of his lips. “Want to see some more?”

Kanda couldn’t help it. The word slipped out before he even knew he spoke. “ _Yeah_.”

“Perfect,” Lavi grinned, making a dramatic descent down the stairs in excitement. “Oh, sweet murder! The game, old man, is on!”

“Don’t forget your bloody key, boy!”

* * *

Once inside a characteristic black London cab, Kanda was starting to question his sanity. What exactly was he doing here? More precisely, sitting in a cab with some random guy he met yesterday going to some place in London for something he didn’t even know what.

What. Was. He. Doing?

“You’ve got questions?”

Again, with the randomly speaking out at random times—it was truthfully starting to creep him out.

But he wasn’t going to let go of the opportunity. “Where the hell are we going?”

“Crime scene,” Lavi answered calmly. “Next?”

“Who the fuck are you? What do you do?”

The redhead seemed rather amused by the question. “What do you think?”

Kanda gave him a hard long side look. “…Detective,” he said eventually. “But you don’t stick with those official jackasses.”

Lavi concluded correctly that he was talking about the police. “Consulting detective,” he replied, chuckling. “Only one in the world; I invented the job. When the police are at the end of the stick—which is always, they consult me.”

“Those idiots are morons, but why the hell will they come to _you_?” Kanda sneered. There was an implied insult in that sentence, and Lavi was sure the other meant it exactly as he said it.

“When I met you yesterday you appeared to be shocked when I told you that you’ve been to Iraq.”

“Lenalee told you,” the doctor stated firmly.

Lavi smiled. “Nothing of the sort. No one told me—I _observed_ ,” he grinned, flicking his eye over the other’s form. “When I saw you I immediately knew you came from the military from the way you stood—though, the length of your hair is surprising,” he commented, eyeing the tresses, but quickly continued under the sound of a low threatening growl. “You recognized the place which meant that you studied in Queen’s Mary, Bart’s, so an army doctor,” he concluded. “Obvious.”

“Your face is slightly tanned but there is no tan line above your wrists which indicate that you have been abroad sometime ago and clearly not for sunbathing. There is a persistent tremor in your right hand but when you stood you forgot about it, so it’s probably psychosomatic. Most likely wounded in action then, and if in action, Afghanistan or Iraq. “

The red head was not quite done yet.

“Then there’s your father,” he continued. “You own an expensive Japanese branded flip phone—probably costs even more to rewire it for the network here. You’re looking for a flat to share so you won’t waste money on this. So, it’s a gift then. Someone obviously loves you enough to treat you something so luxurious. Mostly likely to be one of your parents,” he mused. “I took a shot in the dark—your father. He gave a phone to you which meant he wanted you to stay in touch. Maybe you don’t look to him for help because he’s too concerned, he annoys you. However, the hinge is slightly loose; might indicate that you use the phone often—unlikely, or you often think about contacting him but you don’t. Therefore, more likely you don’t want to burden him.”

Kanda was just staring at him in incredulity. “…How the hell can you possibly…?”

“Guessed,” Lavi looked pleased. “Lenalee was very happy to see you yesterday which meant she wasn’t expecting to see you—you obviously don’t keep in contact with people. Besides, your phone has no scratches at all, which means that it’s been used with great care. It clearly has sentimental significance.”

It was eerily quiet for a long moment.

“What the fuck.”

Lavi blinked when there was no other comment besides that. “Oh,” he glanced at the other, looking oddly confused. “That’s it?”

At the other’s own confused look, he elaborated. “Well, normally people say… piss off.”

Kanda snorted, a smirk at the edge of his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

* * *

“Did I get anything wrong?” Lavi asked curiously when they had reached their destination, stepping out of their ride.

“I hate the old man,” Kanda replied nonchalantly when he was step by step with the consulting detective. “And he’s my ex-foster father. Now, what the hell am I supposed to do here?”

“Foster father!” the redhead paused in his steps, making a sort of noise of frustration. “Argh—“

“ _Ex_ -foster.”

“—there’s always something,” he muttered under his breath.

“No, seriously, what am I doing here?”

By then they had reached the entrance of a park that had been cordoned off with police tape. Several police cars were parked at the side of the road, and it seemed like a relatively normal affair to duck under the tape and stroll in like they owned the place.

“Why are you here?”

A rather stocky man blocked their path before they could enter further. His lips were curled with disgust.

“Detective Lee called me here,” Lavi answered with a smile, and even Kanda could tell it didn’t quite reach his eye.

“Why?”

“Because he called me here?”

“Why?”

“Because he needs help with the case?”

“Wh—“

“God, shut the fuck up,” Kanda snapped reasonably, already irritated.

The scowl turned to him “Who is this?”

Lavi was quick to answer before Kanda did. “Colleague of mine.”

“A colleague,” the other man frowned. “How did you get a colleague?”

It was lucky that another voice cut through all of them. “Chaoji! Just let him in!”

Chaoji wrinkled his nose, and stepped aside reluctantly. “It’s a crime scene and I don’t want it contaminated,” he muttered under his breath, not that either of the other two acted like they heard him.

A bespectacled man in a white coat was hurrying towards them, and he abruptly stopped in his tracks when his eyes met the Japanese’s.

“…Kanda?” he gaped, professionalism all forgotten at the moment as he attempted to pat the other’s head. “Lenalee told me you were back but—but—I can’t believe it! How have you been? Why, couldn’t you just call—”

“Komui,” Kanda grounded out, resisting the urge to slam the other unto the floor. “Quit touching me, you sister complex!”

“As cold as always,” Komui sighed before straightening up. “So, why are you here anyway?”

“He’s with me,” Lavi spoke up.

Komui looked back and forth between the two in curious evaluation. “Oh, I see.”

The tone of that voice did not make Kanda feel comfortable.

“Well, let’s move on,” he gestured, walking off to some direction. “I hope you haven’t had dinner or else you might just throw it all up. The victim’s name is Daisya Barry from what we deduced from his ID. Nothing seems to have been taken from him.”

Lavi hummed. “No witnesses?”

“None,” Komui shook his head. “The man who reported the incident said that a drunken man was there before him but the drunk wandered off when he was making the phone call. Other than that, nothing.”

“I see.”

They all stopped before a lamppost situated deeper in the park. Kanda immediately winced at the sight. A limp body was dangled upside down from the pole, with large nails driven into the victim’s legs to fix him unto the structure. Blood was seeping freely onto the ground, and the gravel was disturbed such that there was a word on the ground.

TEASE

The contortion of the body was terrible and malignant, and combined with the expression of horror twisted upon human features that made the dead man look grotesque. The unnatural writhing posture was cruel, and Kanda had seen many deaths, but never before in such a sadistic gruesome way.

Lavi suddenly shot Komui a frown. “Keep it down.”

The detective blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking,” he retorted.

Kanda didn’t know he had his eyebrows raised so high till he lowered them. Okay, so his potential flat mate was weird _and_ neurotic. Great.

Lavi’s demeanor had totally changed from the way he stepped closer to the body to observe it. After donning gloves, he wasted no time in poking and touching the corpse, as though it was the most fascinating thing he had seen in his entire life. Occasionally he pulled out a mini magnifying glass and scrutinized, other times he prodded certain areas and muttered some incomprehensible words.

“Got anything?” Komui asked after minutes of pure silence watching Lavi obsess over the body.

“Nothing much,” the redhead sighed, stepping back finally. “He was brought here by someone—most possibly the killer—from Knightsbridge where he works, so far so obvious.”

“Obvious?” Kanda repeated, incredulous. “What the fuck—how is that obvious?”

Komui frowned. “What about the word on the ground—“

Lavi ignored him. “Now, Dr Kanda, what do you think?” he asked, looking at the Japanese.

Kanda looked at the body and then at Komui and then at the body again. Was this even legal?

“Lavi,” Komui sighed. “I’ve got a medical team with me—“

“But they won’t work with me,” the redhead answered flatly. “And you need me.”

The detective looked troubled, but then he eventually gave in. “Fine. Do what you want,” he sighed in resignation, walking off towards the said medical team. “Chaoji, keep off for a while—“

Both of the other two men watched him leave until they were left alone.

“Yuu?”

Kanda snapped towards the redhead, glaring. “Don’t call me by my first name or I’ll cut you,” he warned threateningly.

Lavi did not look remorseful in the at least. “Okay.”

“And what the hell am I doing here?” the doctor demanded, eyeing the distracting body.

“You’re helping me,” Lavi smiled amiably. “This is pretty fun, isn’t it?”

“Fun?” Kanda echoed, eyebrows knitted together in pure incredulity. “There’s a fucking _dead body_ on the lamp post!”

“Perfectly sound observation. Now tell me more.”

Kanda stared at the man. Insane. Off his rocker. There was no other explanation for it. Lavi handed him some gloves and he put it on without knowing what he was supposed to feel, stepping closer to the body. He leaned towards the face and pressed his fingers around the neck, feeling the lifeless skin. After a few more touches to the wrists and abdomen, he stepped back.

“Asphyxiation,” he declared. “The idiot choked on his own vomit. He wasn’t drinking, so it’s either a seizure or induced by a drug, either by gas or administrated orally.”

“He was murdered,” Lavi grinned. “Take a guess.”

Kanda would’ve pointed out at smiling at a murder scene was probably quite an unnatural thing to do, but Komui returned at this point.

“So, what else have you got?”

Lavi glanced at him. “The victim is in his early thirties, a professional in the entertainment industry going by his clothes, most likely a makeup artist going by the  specks of coloured powder on his fingers, as well as dots of nail polish on his fingernails from removing polish off a customer’s hand,” the redhead intoned, rattling off his words like a script. “Was brought to Brixton by his killer—normally he rides a bike, obvious from the blister and callous on his hands. Most likely straight after work from Knightsbridge—“

“Knightsbridge?”

“Yes,” Lavi blinked. “Obvious, isn’t it? With that level of personal grooming he probably works somewhere quite up market, and his pants are wet towards the bottom, which indicate that it was raining—heavy rain, too troublesome to attempt to cycle so he stood in the shelter until his killer came by. Where has there been heavy rain in the last 10 hours? Only Knightsbridge.”

“What the hell,” Kanda muttered disbelievingly, staring at the dead body with renewed interest. How the fuck could anyone read all of that from well, _that_?

“Where is the bag?” Lavi suddenly asked, pacing around the lamppost, patting the dead man’s clothes.

Komui and Kanda looked at him oddly. “What bag?”

“The man was brought here after work—of course he was carrying a bag. Small, black, probably branded, judging by his fondness for fashion. A slight tilt on his left shoulder and crumpled area on the right side of his shirt indicates it’s a sling bag, messenger. Where is it?”

“There is no bag,” Komui replied, furrowing his eyebrows.

“No bag?” the redhead repeated slowly, then raised his voice to catch the attention of the rest of the policemen standing around. “Bag! Did anyone find a bag? Is there a bag lying around the area?”

“Maybe the killer took it,” Kanda supplied helpfully.

“Possibly, most likely,” Lavi nodded. “But why? What was so important in the bag? Did he forget—“

Suddenly, Lavi paused, and bent down to pick up something at the feet of the poor corpse. He lifted the item—it was a simple silver ring with a peculiar carving of a butterfly on the inside.

“Silver,” he noted, turning the ring with a special care.

“Lavi, the ring,” Komui held out his hand, and gave the other a stern look when the redhead seemed reluctant.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, dropping the ring into the outstretched palm. An interested smile worked up the edge of his lips. “Interesting. Now why would there be a ring—Oh. OH,” he breathed, excitement lighting up his eye. “I love these murderers—always something to look forward to,” he grinned gleefully, skipping off.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Bag!” Lavi shouted in return, a distance away. “Find out his family, friends, colleagues! Anyone who had ill will towards him—it was clearly for revenge, made obvious by his mistake!”

“What mistake?”

“Silver!”

Dumfounded, Komui and Kanda stood, glancing at each other.

“What just happened?” The doctor thought to ask.

“Lavi,” Komui replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The boy is brilliant but it’s just so _tiring_ trying to keep up with him,” he sighed. “Well, I’ve got to clean this place up—sorry, Kanda-kun, you’ve got to find your own way back.”

It wasn’t like Kanda would’ve accepted any form of help anyway, so he strolled out of the crime scene feeling vaguely lost and unsure, since he wasn’t used to this part of London. Once he found the main road, he slipped his hands into his pockets.

Empty except for his phone.

Fuck.

Now, how the hell was he supposed to get back?

* * *

Beep.

Messages – Received

> _Baker Street._
> 
> _Come at once if convenient._
> 
> LB

Irritating fucker.

Beep.

Beep.

Messages – Received

> _If inconvenient, come anyway._
> 
> LB

Messages – Received

> _Could be dangerous._
> 
> LB

Kanda gritted his teeth and walked faster.


	2. Part II

 

“Are you fucking high?” Kanda demanded once he entered the soon to be familiar room.

The old man had let him in, not commenting on how the doctor was tightly controlling his breathing from speed walking over an hour. Lavi was lounging on the couch, coat haphazardly thrown over. His hands were steepled together under his chin and his eye was shut closed, in some kind of thinking position.

“Nicotine patch,” Lavi replied calmly, not even opening his eye. “Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days—bad news for brain work.”

“At least your lungs don’t get fucked up,” Kanda commented, squinting at the other’s arm. “Is that three patches?”

“It’s a three patch problem,” Lavi sighed, starting to mutter to himself. “I couldn’t find the bag—where is the bag? By right the killer should’ve noticed the object within five minutes and then attempted to get rid of it but there was nothing within the five minute radius; where is the bag?”

Kanda would never understand the red head, and he had only met the idiot for more than a day. “So, what was the important shit?”

“Oh yeah, I need your phone.”

“…”If Kanda would admit anything, he would admit that he felt fucking _cheated_ for having walked faster than usual because of that dreadfully misleading text from the idiot. Dangerous? Dammit, what was he thinking? “Don’t you have a fucking landline?” he shot back in return.

“Not that,” Lavi answered. “I need internet connection.”

“Use your own goddamn laptop!”

“It’s too far away!”

Kanda gritted his teeth, and felt the overwhelming urge to punch the other. “I was on the other side of London!”

“There was no hurry,” the redhead replied, shrugging, holding out his palm. “Give it here.”

“You texted me here…to lend you my phone,” Kanda scowled, biting the words out slowly. “Wait, how did you get my number anyway?”

“Lenalee. And Yes.”

As if. “No.”

Lavi sat up, almost pouting childishly. “I need your phone.”

“I’m leaving,” Kanda rolled his eyes, and made to walk out the door.

“Yuu!”

“ _Don’t_ fucking call me by my first name!” The Japanese snapped furiously back in reflex, stopping the other in his trail.

Lavi was looking at him in that particular way, like he was seeing something that no one else could see. His gaze was directed right at Kanda, and tension arose thicker than before. “Trust issues?” he asked, eye flickering up and down. “Someone betrayed you—“

Kanda grabbed the other roughly by the collar and yanked down with no mercy, till their noses where nearly touching. At least the consulting detective knew when boundaries were being tested, or maybe it was the look that Kanda was giving him that honestly scared the shit out of him.

“ _Shut the fucking hell up,_ ” Kanda hissed, eyes alight with fury.

A minute of silence passed, and then Kanda dropped him uncaringly on the floor.

“Ow,” Lavi complained, rubbing the back of his spine where the impact was the greatest.

A small clink caught Kanda’s attention as a small round ring rolled out and clattered upon the floor.

“Isn’t that…”

“The ring. Yes, obviously.”

The calm way that Lavi said it made Kanda question the other’s sanity—not for the first time.

“You’re not supposed to fucking _steal_ evidence!”

“I’m just…borrowing it,” he shrugged. “I need it.”

“Need it for?”

“I need your phone too.”

“I’m not lending you my phone. Use your fucking laptop.”

“Yuu—“ The glare that came his way stopped the word in his throat. “Doctor Kanda,” he acceded, sniffing a little. “Pass me my laptop,” he gestured somewhere on the kitchen table. “Please,” he added when the other just stared at him.

Kanda glanced at it, took it and threw it toward the redhead who caught it smoothly.

“Right,” Lavi breathed, opening the gadget as he propped his legs on the couch. A few taps of keys and clicks occurred, and the computer was snapped shut. “Okay then, shall we go?”

Perhaps it was the look of pure confusion on the doctor’s face that Lavi felt the need to ask. “You’ve got questions?”

“What was that?”

“I put up an advertisement online.”

“For?”

“The ring.” Lavi frowned at Kanda’s look of incomprehension. “The ring,” he repeated, almost impatiently. “It wasn’t in a pocket or a finger—it was on the ground,” he continued. “Clearly it was dropped on accident and the murderer would want it back.”

“Couldn’t you check it for fingerprints?”

“It was clean.” Came the rapt reply.

“So won’t the killer just leave it?”

“No, this is important,” Lavi said thoughtfully. “He would risk anything except losing the ring. After killing the man he discovered his loss and hurried back, but someone else had already stumbled across the scene and called the police—“

Kanda stared. “Since when—“

“The drunken man Komui was talking about—weren’t you listening? He had to pretend to be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might have been aroused by his appearance back to the street. Now think about it. If he is so desperate for the ring he would keep a lookout for it, no doubt. So, I put up an advertisement for a found ring online. _In Brixton, found outside Holmeswood Park along the main street. Contact Dr Kanda, 22 Northumberland Street_. Simple.”

Kanda did not know whether to be horrified. “You used my fucking name?”

“Obviously,” Lavi rolled his eye. “The murderer will recognize mine.”

“I’m assuming Komui doesn’t know about this.”

“Brilliant deduction.”

“So why the hell are you telling this to me?”

“The old man took my skull.”

“So, I’m replacing your skull,” Kanda stated dryly, not amused.

“Relax, you’re doing great,” Lavi grinned with cheer, grabbing his coat, and headed towards the door. “Well…”

“Well _what_?”

The redhead shrugged, making quick work of tying a scarf—horrendously orange, clashed horribly with his hair, Kanda thought with great spite—and cocked his head. “You could just stand there and…watch telly, I dunno—“

Kanda raised an eyebrow at the sarcasm. “You want me to come with you?”

“I like company when I go out, and the skull just attracts attention—problem?”

The doctor scoffed. “You’re fucking insane.”

“And I said dangerous,” Lavi smirked. “And _here you are_.”

Kanda swallowed, staring after the disappearing back out of the doorframe. He couldn’t help the sense of nagging compulsion tightening at his chest and eventually seconds later he swore, making his way after the redhead.

“Goddammit.”

* * *

Kanda was starting to hate any situation involving the redhead—because he felt so _lost_ and _stupid_ —for once in his entire fucking life. “Where are we going?”

“Northumberland Street. Just a short walk from here,” Lavi replied, steps bouncing with a sort of happy lightness.

“You think the murderer will respond to your stupid advertisement.”

“I _know_ he will—he’s desperate for that ring,” the redhead explained. “With that elaborate death set-up, he wants the appreciation, he made it for an audience—he doesn’t mind taking the risk of getting caught. The killer _abducted_ Daisya Barry straight after work; he was taking shelter from the rain, no one is usually never alone outside the malls in Knightsbridge—think! Who passes by unnoticed in a busy crowd?”

There was no response from the doctor, but Lavi could tell he was listening—just not bothered to give him a reply.

“I haven’t got the faintest,” he concluded to himself eventually. “Hungry?”

* * *

Lavi brought him to a particular restaurant that he had never frequented before. Apparently the redhead was a regular customer here, for the waiter who opened the door for them both showed them a table right next to the window giving them a clear view of 22 Northumberland Street.

“Keep your eyes on it,” Lavi muttered, staring out the window with interest.

“You seriously think the murderer is going to ring the doorbell?” Kanda raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Why not?”

“It’s fucking _obvious_ , isn’t it?” the Japanese shot back, feeling slightly glad that he could use that word for once. “Your advert, it’s suspicious. The police cordons the area off due to the crime scene, and poof, magically some idiot Samaritan finds a random silver ring on the floor and decides to be nice,” he spat the word out like it disgusted him, “and has the noble inspiration of returning it to its previous owner. Nobody fucking does that.”

“Ah,” Lavi nodded, thoughtfully. “But even if it is suspicious, he will come.”

Kanda would’ve said some more, but a tall tanned man in a chef uniform and sunglasses—who the fuck wore sunglasses at night and indoors—with pulled back braided hair approached their table.

“Ah, Lavi,” the man grinned. “Anything for you, anything you want, off the menu, free. Only for you and your date—“

What the fuck— _no_. Seriously. “I’m not his date,” Kanda snapped.

Unfortunately it seemed like the man just ignored him.

“This man got me off a murder charge,” the other continued, pride tingling in his voice. “Brilliant man, cleared my name.”

“He’s Jerry,” Lavi introduced, though his eye was still affixed out the window. “Three years ago he was charge with a triple murder that occurred when he was in a totally different part of town. Anything from the opposite?”

“Nothing,” Jerry sighed, giving a quick look out of the window before landing his gaze on Kanda. “I’ll get a candle for the table—it’s more romantic.”

“I’m not his fucking date!” Kanda grounded out, but it was useless as the chef had already sauntered off.

“You might as well order something as we wait,” Lavi pointed out, hand tapping on the table.

“Whatever,” the doctor muttered, scanning down the menu and only looked up when the promised candle was set in front of him, including a wink and thumbs up from Jerry.

“You seem agitated,” Lavi stated, eye occasionally darting towards him.

“Shut up.”

“So…” he began again, now observing the other more blatantly then before. “You have a girlfriend?”

Kanda looked taken aback at the question but he steeled his expression into a glare. “No.”

“You have a boyfriend then? Which is…fine by the way—“

“What the fuck are you implying?” The glare got deeper. “ _No_.”

Lavi coughed. “Unattached. Right. Like me,” he nodded thoughtfully, and there was an awkward tension between them both for a minute. “By the way, before you grow any interest in me I’d just like you to know that I consider myself married to my work.”

If it was even possible, the death glare that Kanda had dropped several degrees. “I didn’t fucking ask.”

“Okay. Okay,” Lavi grinned peacefully, and then he abruptly narrowed his eye, demeanor turning serious. “Look across the street. A taxi. Why a taxi?” he muttered, peering further forward. “Oh, that’s clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?”

“That’s him?” Kanda squinted at the black vehicle that had pulled up along the opposite street. A vague figure of a man seemed to turn and look back in their direction.

“Don’t stare,” Lavi commanded.

“What? You’re staring.”

“Well, we can’t both stare,” he retorted, arising from his seat and grabbing his coat.

Kanda sighed in irritation when he realised Lavi was going to chase after the vehicle—it might have been by obligation, or something else, that he snatched his own coat and hurried after the consulting detective.

Lavi was standing at the sidewalk, eye transfixed at the taxi. The vehicle started to move off, and immediately he stepped onto the road, not bothering to look if there was incoming traffic—and there was. Kanda paused in shock when a car suddenly screeched to a halt, bumping Lavi with a much lesser impact than it could have.

“Sorry,” the redhead shouted to the car and took off right away as soon as he got his balance back. “Oh dammit,” he muttered when he spotted the car disappearing down the lane. “Where, where, where?” he mumbled, closing his eye and frowned in concentration. “Right turn, pedestrian light, pedestrian crossing, wardour street, then noel street, there’s a stop there, diversion, one way, road works, traffic lights—“ his eye snapped open and he bolted down the pavement.

The doctor only watched in bewildered awe and ran after the consulting detective. It seemed like the red head knew exactly where he was going—he dived into an alleyway and ran up one of the metal steps, making his way across the top of a building. From there, Lavi maneuvered across the buildings with ease, and Kanda thanked the god that his legs were working perfectly fine, and he was fucking fit, so he at the other’s heels as they ran. They went down another flight of steps, past Lexington Street, through more rubbished filled alleyways, until finally they came upon the main road.

Lavi skidded right in front of an incoming taxi, arms spread out wide.

Before impact, however, a strong arm hauled him backwards.

“Ever heard of the saying _look_ before you _leap_?” Kanda shouted at him once the car screeched past with a swear sword from the cabbie. “The second fucking time—“

“Ever heard of he who hesitates is lost?” Lavi retorted, looking angry. “Now we’ve lost him!”

“You fucking idiot,” the other growled, lips pursing in displeasure. “It’s that taxi!” he pointed roughly to another black vehicle that was coming in their direction, but at a slower speed. “I remember the number plate.”

Lavi blinked, turning to look at the car. “Oh,” he mumbled, and then hurried to flag it down. “Police, open up—“ he stopped when he opened the door of the passenger.

An Asian man of about late twenties stared blankly at them.

 “No,” Lavi muttered under his breath, obviously disappointed. “Taiwanese, first trip to London. Just arrived.”

Kanda stared. “How can you possibly know—“

“The luggage.”

The asian man frowned. “Are you guys the police?”

“Err, yeah,” Lavi waved some ID at the man, smiling awkwardly.  “Um, welcome to London,” he muttered before shutting the door, quickly making his way down the street.

“It was just a taxi that slowed down,” Kanda stated when he caught up with the other. “Not the murderer.”

“Not the murderer,” Lavi agreed.

“So much for your _brilliant_ plan.”

The redhead huffed, scowling at how the Japanese was obviously taking delight in his disappointment. “What are you snickering at?”

“Welcome to London.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

It was dark when they returned to 221b Baker Street, and Kanda was starting to feel hungry. He didn’t get to eat at that restaurant—even if the chef was weird, but the food was good, he could tell, and it would’ve been even better if they had soba. He didn’t get to browse through the menu fully.

“What about Northumberland Street?” he asked, a thought occurring to him.

“Oh, the restaurant can keep an eye out. I’m tired,” Lavi breathed in deeply, fanning himself as he leaned against the wall of the corridor leading up to the steps. “It was a long shot anyway.”

“So what are we doing here?”

“Oh, just…passing the time,” the redhead shrugged, waving his hands around vaguely. “And proving a point.”

Kanda looked at him curiously. “What point?”

“You,” Lavi smirked, raising his voice after. “Gramps! Yuu will take the room upstairs!”

The Japanese would’ve kicked the other for using his first name again, but he was more confused. “Says who?”

“Hand.”

Now, he really did not get what was going on. “What?”

“Give me your hand,” Lavi elaborated, holding out his palm in return. “Your right hand.”

Befuddled, Kanda did as he was asked—and stared at his own hand wrapped in Lavi’s larger one. It looked the same to him, that particular small scar on the bottom of his thumb when he cut himself with a scalpel once, and also the small nick on the knuckle on his smallest finger from a surgical wire, and it was resting steadily in the other’s palm.

Steady.

It was _steady_.

Lavi looked smug, but Kanda didn’t have the mood to feel annoyed, because _holy shit_ —the tremor was gone.

Why?

The sound of someone storming down the steps quickly broke him out of his thoughts, and Lavi dropped the hand contact as though it burned.

“Idiot!” the redhead—their—landlord hissed, looking displeased. “What have you done? Come upstairs, quickly now!”

The sense of urgency snapped both of them to their feet, and they all hurried up the steps.

“What are you doing?” Lavi demanded once he swung the door open to the living room, which was crowded with people—people touching things, moving things…

Komui was sitting in one of the couches, sipping a mug of coffee, looking relaxed. “I knew you took the ring—I’m not stupid.”

 “You can’t just break in to my flat!”

“You can’t withhold evidence,” the elder replied reasonably.  “And, I didn’t break into your flat.”

“Then what do you call this then?”

Komui paused, searching for an appropriate excuse. “It’s…a drug’s bust!”

“Seriously, are you fucking kidding me?” Kanda snorted, scoffing. “This moron? Have you met him?”

Lavi looked oddly uncomfortable. “Yuu.”

“Like, seriously—“ At the mention of his name, he glared towards the redhead. “I told you not to use my first name!”

 “Yuu,” Lavi repeated, voice low with gritted teeth. “You probably want to shut up now—“

Kanda stopped, eyes widening. “You…are you fucking serious?”

“Shut up,” the redhead snapped, and then shifted his glare towards Komui. “I’m not giving the ring back to you.”

“Knew it,” Komui muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Are these human eyes?” Chaoji appeared at the doorway of the kitchen, holding a Tupperware with barely concealed disgust.

“Put those back!”

“Freak, it was in the microwave—“

“It’s an experiment!” Lavi sighed, annoyed.  “What are you really here for, Komui?”

The detective gulped down the remaining contents of his drink and sighed, looking wearier than he did before. “We’ve tried to talk to anyone related to Daisya Barry—no related kin here in London. Apparently he ran away from home when he was young, never contacted his parents at all. Worked previously in Kensington before the company moved location. Colleagues fondly remember him as the prankster, the joker, always making people laugh. I’m guessing it had to do with the writing in the gravel since you said it was revenge—“

“No,” Lavi immediately shook his head.

“How do you know—“

“It was written by the victim, not the murderer. It was sloppy, desperately scratched when he was dying. The murder would’ve taken his time to write it nicely,” he explained. “It was a message. A message from Daisya Barry. Tease. What, how, who—“

“Dimwit, did you order a taxi?” their landlord suddenly appeared at the door. “There’s one outside.”

“No, I didn’t. Must be a wrong address,” he waved it off flippantly, starting to pace around. “Why would he write a word like that? What could it mean? A tribute to his prankster nature? No—“

“Is this a brain in the freezer?”

“Stop touching my stuff!” Lavi sighed, sending an irritated look towards Chaoji, and continued to pace faster than before. “A name of someone significant? Or something to do with his work? There has to be a connection, there has to be.”

“The taxi says you called him—“

“He was dying, it took effort, it would’ve been a last resort—gramps, look, I didn’t, okay?—Why why why, why did he write it? He was a prankster, he was smart. He’s trying to tell us something—“

“Boy, that taxi is not moving—“

“God is this a human heart—”

“Shut up everybody, shut up!” Lavi shouted, clearly agitated. “Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe, don’t think! Chaoji, face the other way you’re putting me off.”

“What?” Chaoji spat, offended. “My face is?”

Before Lavi could retort, another even more condescending voice cut through.

“Fuck, shut up,” Kanda sneered, rubbing his temples. “You lower the IQ of the entire street when you open that fucking mouth of yours.”

Never before did Lavi feel so grateful to another human being. “Come on, think, quick—“

“What about your taxi?”

“Old man!” Lavi shouted in annoyance, clicking his tongue. “Go away, I’m trying to think!”

A heavy book was slammed into his face, and when the redhead slowly peeled the offending object off his sore nose, his landlord was glaring at him darkly.

“Sorry,” he coughed, faltering slightly. “Stress.”

The old man snorted, and stalked out the door, unimpressed. “Deal with the taxi yourself, boy. I’m not your housekeeper.”

“Yeah, fine. Stupid taxi,” the redhead mumbled, rubbing his nose, and then he stilled. “Oh.”

It was the way he said it that caught the attention of everybody in the room.

“Ohhhhh. He was smart, oh yes, very smart,” he breathed, a grin spreading on his lips. He paced around the room in a circle. “Do you see, do you get it?” he demanded excitedly. “He knew he was going to die. He wrote it to lead us to his killer!”

Everyone else just stared in utter silence. “How?” Komui asked.

“What do you mean how?” Lavi shot back, incredulous. “Tease! It’s brilliant! Don’t you see—it all adds up!”

Blank looks in return.

“Tease? Don’t you see? Tease!” he tried again, and then sighed in frustration when there was no response. “Five years ago an unfortunate accident occurred in Kensington before the Burberry fashion show. The marquee caught fire for reasons unknown. No one was hurt, and only one model was hurt in the occasion. Nothing else was reported than that—it was kept as low key as possible,” he rattled on. “And the title of the show was called _Tease_.”

“…You think the murderer of Daisya Barry is taking revenge for that incident?” Komui frowned. “But we don’t even know if he has worked there before—there is no proof that he was the one who caused the fire—“

“Research, do your research,” Lavi stated impatiently. “Find these things out, that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“Even so, what makes you so sure—“

“The ring!” the redhead groaned. “Must I spell everything out? Isn’t it obvious? The butterfly engraved inside the ring. It was the theme of that showcase, no doubt an item from it. For starters, find everything I said out. Give me a list of all the models who have worked on that showcase—no, find me the one who got hurt. Find him, and you find your killer.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Boy, deal with your taxi!”

Lavi shook his head in irritation. “Yes, yes, comin—“ he stopped.

_Who passes by unnoticed wherever they go?_

Kanda noticed how the redhead had paused for a moment, before taking his coat slowly off the rack as Komui rattled instructions to the rest of the people in the room.

“Where are you going?” Kanda asked just as Lavi was stepping out of the door.

“Fresh air,” the other replied distractedly. “Just popping outside for a while. Won’t be long.”

Kanda did not try to stop him, and only eyed the fast disappearing back with suspicion.

Once outside, Lavi shut the front door behind him silently.

“Taxi for Lavi Bookman.”

A tall man, early thirties was leaning against the characteristic black vehicle. He was dark skinned, and his face was marred with scars—he could tell some work had been done to clean it up, but it was definitely nothing compared to the beautiful face it was before. Sharp jaw, nice bone structure, dark glinting eyes in the unusual shade of molten gold. His hair was long, pulled into a long ponytail at the nape. A lazy smirk was spread on his lips.

“I didn’t order a taxi,” Lavi stated, hands casually in his pockets.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t need one,” the other man grinned.

“You’re the cabby,” he said at long last. “The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It was you, not your passenger.”

The man flicked his bangs. “Interesting, isn’t it?” he commented. “No one ever thinks about the cab driver. It’s like you’re invisible. Perfect,” he smirked, voice low. “For a murderer.”

“Is this a confession?”

“Yeah well,” the man shrugged, not seemingly very concerned. “You can call those doofs if you like. But trust me when I say this—I didn’t kill Daisya Barry. He killed himself.”

Lavi frowned. “...Really.”

“It’s up to you whether you want to believe me or not. I just talked to him. If you call the cops down now I can promise you one thing though—you will never know how I did it,” the other smiled, almost in an innocent gesture. “But if you come with me,” he held out the door open gallantly. “Maybe you might learn something new.”

“So you can kill me.”

“Nah,” the man snorted, chuckling. “We’re just going to have a little chat. Then, you’re going to kill yourself.”

Lavi stared at the man for a moment, and entered the vehicle.

* * *

Kanda was right to trust his gut instinct when it felt like something off. After all, it had saved his life countless times during battle. If there was an urge to duck, duck. Most likely a bullet that could’ve shot him straight through the brain would whizz by. Thus loyal to his sixth sense, he followed after the cab that Lavi had gotten in at a safe distance.

“Wait—shit, stop here,” he demanded, shoving a bill towards his cab driver before getting out hurriedly.

The other cab he was trailing was still moving down the street, but he had a feeling they were going to stop soon. True enough, at the further end of the road, the vehicle turned into an opening and Kanda moved close enough to see that it was a carpark.

He hid behind the edge of a stone pillar of the gate that surrounded the area, glancing at the words printed in on the top of the middle building inside.

“SOAS,” he muttered, furrowing his eyebrows.

Why a college?

There wasn’t time to ponder upon that as Lavi got out of the cab, escorted by the other man, and together they disappeared into the building.

Without thinking he placed his hand at his hip, and gritted his teeth when he realised his gun wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t there—he stopped bringing his gun around ever since he wasn’t in Iraq, but old habits die hard—he still kept the weapon at home.

Shit. There was that nagging feeling again.

He needed his gun.

* * *

Lights flickered on as Lavi walked deeper into the library, as being led by the man.

“What do you think?” the man asked, gesturing around. “Is this place good enough for your death bed?”

Lavi continued to observe the books around nonchalantly. “I’m not going to die here.”

A smirk curled at the man’s lip. “That’s what he said,” he grinned. “Come, take a seat. Let’s have a nice chat. Sorry, no tea, darling.”

“You’re excused,” the redhead replied, pulling out a chair for himself and the other sat across him. “You took a risk, didn’t you? Probably didn’t have time to boil the kettle.”

“A risk? Nah,” the man shook his head playfully. “Hardly. I was too busy preparing the main course,” he answered, and from his pocket he produced a bottle.

The small glass bottle was set on the table, and Lavi eyed it. Inside, there was a pill—drug, poison, no doubt.

To be honest, Lavi felt disappointed. “That’s it?”

“So impatient,” the man chided, chuckling, and his other hand brought out another bottle, exactly the same as the first, including the pill. As the two bottles stood side by side, it was impossible to distinguish between the two. “Lavi Bookman,” he grinned. “Here it begins.”

Lavi stared at the bottles for a moment. “Okay. Two bottles, explain.”

“There’s a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live, and if you take the pill from the bad bottle, you die. Simple, isn’t it? Everything is up to fate.”

“And the bottles are identical in every single way—“

“Yes—“

“But you know which is the good bottle—“

“Of course I know—“

“And I don’t know which is the good bottle—“

“It wouldn’t be fair if that was the case, would it?”

Lavi flickered his gaze from the bottle back to the man. “How is that fair?”

“I let you _choose_ , Lavi Bookman,” the man replied, leaning his cheek on his palm lazily. “Just as I let Daisya Barry _choose_. God is fair.”

“As with all those who yearn for revenge believe,” Lavi stated, staring at him. “Tyki Mikk. Portuguese. You started out your model career seven years ago, and was promising, very promising. Within two years you worked your way to be the face of a Burberry’s runway show that was an only invite event of the rich and famous,” he continued, watching the other carefully. “Tease, as it was called. But an accident during rehearsal caused the entire place to be set on fire. You were changing in the room when the alarm sounded. Panicked, you tried to evacuate the building but the door was jammed, having set in place by prankster Daisya Barry who though it was funny to make your appearance late. He didn’t anticipate the fire.”

Tyki didn’t look so much as surprised. “Good, very good,” he praised, grinning. “Don’t you see, Bookman? He played with my life, and I played with his. Equivalent change. Our lives were both put to the test, and the outcome is so telling, isn’t it?”

“So why did you come find me, then?” Lavi questioned. “Your motive was done.”

“Ah, it was a request,” the Portuguese stated. “From my sponsor.”

“Sponsor?” the redhead repeated, frowning. “Who is that?”

“A fan of yours. Gave me great advice, but really, I owe him so much, so this is just a little gift from me. I’ll tell you only if you play the game, Bookman,” Tyki smiled. “Now, take your pick, you’re wasting time.”

Lavi was staring at him harder than before. “You put the ring there on purpose.”

Tyki smirked. “Of course.”

“You returned to the crime scene on purpose.”

“Of course.”

“That cab, everything!” Lavi started, agitated.

“Better yet,” the Portuguese grinned, revealing his perfect teeth. “The writing on the gravel. I asked Daisya to write it after he chose his fate.”

“Dropping so many obvious clues just to contact me,” the redhead muttered. “Ah, but the bag. The bag; you realized Daisya had left the bag in your taxi, and you didn’t dump it off somewhere.”

“Oh, that would’ve been too easy for you if you found it,” Tyki shrugged. “Besides, I know people who can get rid of it for me, nice and clean.”

“Your sponsor,” Lavi mumbled, pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “Tell me, who is your sponsor?” he demanded.

“No cheating, Bookman,” Tyki shook his head, smiling, pointing at the bottles. “Choose first, and then I’ll answer.”

Lavi looked at the bottles. “Not much point in this game, is there? Fate? Chance? Fairness?” he snorted. “Hardly. You’re going to die anyway. Late stage leukemia,” he stated. “You’ve already had an operation as seen from that scar on your arm but it came back, more vicious than before. The way you breathe, it hurts, indicates signs of organ failure. It takes effort. You’re dark skinned but you’re pale, not enough blood in your system—anemia, a particularly obvious symptom. Judging by your wig, I’m guessing chemotherapy was of no help. There’s nothing you can do but await your death—cancer is not going to cure itself.”

Tyki looked impressed. “Oh, he was right,” he shook his head, chuckling. “You’re not good. You’re brilliant.”

“The question is why,” Lavi continued, observing him. “Why did you kill Daisya Barry?”

“As you said, it was for revenge.”

“No,” the redhead breathed. “You didn’t kill him because you were bitter—bitterness, is a paralytic, but love, love, is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow, this is about your sponsor,” he frowned. “Someone close to you. Someone you owe and you’re giving him your last breath.”

There was pure silence in the library until Tyki started to clap slowly, a wide grin on his face. “Perfect, absolutely perfect. But you’re cheating here, Bookman. You can’t get the prize when you haven’t played the game.”

Still on the table sat those two innocent bottles.

“I don’t need to—“ Lavi sniffed. “I know the answer,” he said, standing up and stretching. “Well, it was a nice chat with you. Very interesting, worth quite a bit of my time. I look forward to the court case,” he smiled, making his way out. “I’ll get you a ride if you need one!”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Tyki asked as he was nearly reaching the door. “That you’ll never know if you were right?”

“I know I’m right,” the consulting detective shrugged confidently.

“Prove it to me. Here,” Tyki tossed him one of the bottles. “I made the first move, but it’s your call in the end,” he grinned. “Is this a bluff? Or a double bluff? Or a triple bluff?”

“This is ridiculous.” The redhead scoffed, glancing at the bottle. “Child’s play.”

“What is there for you to lose, Bookman?” Tyki taunted. “You said I was a dead man walking anyway. Very true, so why not just help ease my passing? Plus, you get to know the name of my sponsor if you win. Wouldn’t you like to know that?”

* * *

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, are you fucking seriously going to eat that shit?” Kanda muttered under his breath, unable to believe it.

He could roughly guess that the pill inside was probably poison—but two bottles, so it was a game and the other man had probably goaded the idiot into taking it—moron, idiots like him were the most insufferable in wanting to know everything.

“Goddammit, Lavi!” he hissed, but of course they couldn’t hear him, but he was spying on them from a building opposite through the window.

Before he knew it he had his gun in his hand pointed towards the murderer, and the other two in the library had the pill right on the edge of their lips.

Shoot? Don’t shoot? Shoot?

Fuck.

He gripped his hand tighter around his gun, and noticed that his right finger resting on the trigger was steady.

Perfectly steady.

Without a second thought, he fired the shot.

* * *

A sudden force rippled through the room and Lavi jumped in shock, dropping the pill in hand on the ground. It was a gunshot, and he looked around wildly for the source of it, zeroing in on a hole in the window behind him. Peering through the hole, he didn’t spot anything except for the other building opposite with a similar hole at the same height—the source—but there was no one. It was empty.

Tyki was wheezing on the floor, blood seeping through from behind him and colouring the tiled floor red.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Lavi demanded, breathing heavily and crouching next to him. “I took the correct pill! I did, didn’t I?”

The Portuguese coughed, delirious from blood loss.

The redhead gritted his teeth in frustration. “Alright then,” he breathed, trying to calm himself down. “Your sponsor. Who is your sponsor? I want his name.”

Tyki chuckled, and it took some effort as pained coughed hackled through his body. “No.”

“You’re dying, but there’s still time to hurt you,” Lavi threatened. “Give me a name.”

There was no answer, only an irritating self satisfying smirk.

He placed his foot right above the gunshot wound and stepped. _Hard_. “Name! Now!”

A pained groan gasped the Portuguese lips, but he did not give a name.

“NAME!” Lavi shouted. He was so close—so _close_ —

Tyki opened his eyes one last time, golden eyes simmering with amusement. “ _The Earl,”_ he breathed, and it was his last.

* * *

“Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me,” Lavi asked, tugging on the said fabric around his shoulders when Komui appeared at the doorway of the ambulance he was sitting in.

“It’s for shock.”

“I’m not in shock.”

“Well, yes, but some of the guys want to take photographs and you’re not allowed in,” Komui explained.

Lavi pouted. “So, no sign of the shooter?”

“No sign,” Komui answered. “But Tyki Mikk—well, he was involved in quite a lot of dangerous stuff after his modeling career went up in smoke as seen from his records. He could’ve had a lot of enemies, one of them could have been following him—fine,” he sighed, noticing the expression on the other. “If you got anything, say it.”

“The bullet was shot out from a handgun, past two windows—with a weapon that over that kind of distance you’re clearly looking for a marksman, a fighter. His hand couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he was acclimatized to violence. It’s probably done by a man with a history of military service—“ Lavi blinked, looking around and spotting Kanda leaning against the wall of the building a distance away, looking bored. “…and nerves of steel…”

The doctor seemed to notice his glance and scowled in return.

“You know what, don’t mind me,” Lavi shook his head, waving his hand about. “Ignore whatever I said, it’s…it’s just the…shock talking,” he mumbled, starting to move towards Kanda’s direction.

“Wait, where are you going? I’ve still got questions—“

“Ask me later,” the redhead replied distractedly. “Look, I’m in shock—I’ve got a blanket!”

“Lavi!” Komui sighed, pushing up his glasses.

“But I just caught you a murderer!” Lavi protested. “Even if he’s…dead, but technicalities don’t matter.”

“…Fine. Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

The consulting detective merely gave the other a final pout before making his way towards his intended. Kanda didn’t look at him when he arrived.

“Good shot,” Lavi said, gaze direct.

“Through that window? Yeah I heard,” Kanda muttered, picking himself off the wall and they fell into a steady step beside each other.

“You would know,” the redhead agreed, with a lot of intent behind those words. “Are you alright?”

The Japanese looked at him oddly.

“You just killed a man, Yuu,” Lavi mumbled, giving him a side glance.

There was silence for about five steps. “It’s not the first time.”

“It doesn’t feel any better than the first, does it?” he replied quietly.

“…How would you know?”

Lavi shrugged. “The science of deduction.”

“Bullshit,” Kanda snorted, rolling his eyes. “You were going to take that damn pill, weren’t you?”

“Of course I wasn’t,” the redhead denied, huffing. “Just bidding my time. I knew you’d turn up.”

“No, you didn’t, the Japanese scoffed. “Moron.”

Lavi grinned, shook his head and chuckled. “So…” he began, stretching his arms out, breathing in the fresh night air. “Need any help with moving your stuff?”

Kanda smirked. “You’re paying the movers for me.”


End file.
